


Work you from the inside

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They won't let a demon ruin everything, not now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work you from the inside

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: A huge thank you goes out to wings128 for a speedy and awesome beta (And reassurance this wasn't utter balls). Much love. I don't usually write this kind of fic. It's not something I usually read either, but the idea got stuck.

Title: Work you from the inside.  
Word Count: 4,732  
Warnings: Non-Con, Violent sexual acts.  
Characters/Pairings: Un-named Demon, Sam/Dean.  
Rating: NC-17.  
Summary: They won't let a demon ruin everything, not now.

The first sparks of awareness come slithering up on Dean, like the father of a prom queen, out to find his daughter under the bleachers with some jock.

Stealthy, but none to graceful.

Crawling in behind his eyes, armed with a baseball bat and a pocket full of hurt.

He's vaguely conscious of a penetrating ache, all pervading in it's intensity. He reckons if he had complete control of all his motor functions, it'd hurt like a sonofabitch, but he can barely feel his fingers and toes, so hopefully he's just got a mother of a hangover brewing.

He takes a quick inventory of all unaccounted extremities, quickly realising he isn't alone in his thoughts. He appears to have set up a time share with something.

The stretching out in your own psyche before waking fully, the exploration of the inside of your head that every soul enjoys before giving themselves over to the day to day of it all, before opening their eyes and enduring sunshine and chatter and people sent to strain the brain. That's what Dean is trying and failing miserably at.

Dean mentally flexes his shoulders, popping and rolling his joints, and comes smack up against a very solid, very see through wall.

His consciousness can see where it should be travelling, but can't get there. Mental road block.

As he's tapping his metaphorical knuckles against the plexi-glass wall in his head, he realises where the stabbing, searing ache, is coming from, two inches south of his collarbone.

Trying to reach up and scratch the space where ink meets skin, he realises he can't make his body do what it's meant to.

He can see the quick flashes of electricity snap from one neuron to another until it too comes up against a mass of immovable force between his body and his brain.

Biting down on blind panic, he tries again, starts small, thinks fixedly on wiggling his fingers.

That's when he hears it....

Cackling.

The sound is pure joy. Sadistic, black, cold.

His limbs are still attached to him, the strings are still there, wrapped round the parts of his brain responsible for twitching them, but they are absolutely refusing to respond and he feels like he's been dipped in anti-freeze.

He gets it, he's a quick enough study and he really wishes he wasn't.

He's contemplating nestling his lazy ass back into some dank recess of his mind, the places safe from fear and hurt and anger, filled with the not knowing of a thing.

'Who are you?  
No one special, Dean.'

He's thrust violently forward into the part of his brain responsible for sight.

The agony he couldn't quite get a handle on when hidden in the back rooms of his brain, comes into sharp and unpleasant focus.

He's staring at himself in a mirror, shirtless, blood trail crusting down his chest.

The eyes Sam's so fond of, the ones that he says shift to different shades depending on weather and mood, those eyes are gone. In place of muted green and gold flecks, there's black. No whites, no definition, just a sea of roiling black smoke.

He's only there for seconds, long enough to understand exactly how screwed he really is. He's roughly yanked from his own awareness and thrown backwards, stuffed down deep.

The tattoo, the anti-possession sigil on his chest. The one that Sam couldn't keep his hands and tongue away from, even when it was still healing.

It's gone.

There's a gaping hole in his flesh below the collarbone. The skank demon now running around his memories like a kid in a candy store, has cut away a ragged flap of skin. Chiselled down three layers, enough to completely remove the ink that's been offering Dean protection for the last five years.

'Shit.  
Understatement.'

Dean grinds his teeth, then realises he can't actually grind his teeth and feels the beginnings of a migraine seeping through some as yet unfilled crack in his mind.

No way, he can't scratch his nose or take a leak but he can still get a headache. This is gonna get real old real fast.

'What do you want!  
Nothing much, just everything'

In theory, he can feel he's stood in his and Sam's motel room, he knows where his body is, in practice he can't flex his toes in the carpet, get his legs to carry him anywhere.

Despite suspecting he'll get mentally crushed, he starts pounding himself against the wall. Throwing as much of himself as he can afford to lose against the mass invading his senses.

'Nice try Winchester. Sorry man, I've been here a while. Good and settled  
Listen to me you black eyed son of a bitch, when Sam manages to strip you back down to smoke....  
Ah, yes, Sammy. Dear little Sammy. Dean, have a look at this, you'll love it'

His body swings left, and there, shackled to their bed and very much out of it, is Sam. Beginnings of a black eye and a swollen and split lip.

The inward force of the roar Dean blasts it with is almost enough to loosen the demon's hold, force it to wince away from the rage.

He shapes his mind into claws, talons, ripping and slashing and scraping great gouges out of the wall.

It's not enough to regain complete control, not enough to shove it's ass out of his body, but enough to make him realise he might not be totally beat.

'You hurt him, I swear to god!  
God doesn't care about you two. Didn't he already prove that, over and over again!'

He's hollering, throwing his voice as hard as he can onto his tongue, but his mouth won't open, his vocal cords won't vibrate.

'Sammy! Wake up, WAKE UP!  
It's no good Dean, you know the rules. You've been here before. I'm driving, you're riding shotgun. If you're lucky I might let you actually feel me slicing into 'Sasquatch' If you're really unlucky, I'll let you taste his blood on your tongue.'

He's been working at locking up parts of his head, biting down on precious memories and sensations. Everything he's ever felt in Sam's arms. All their moments of truth and respite in the shitty world they inhabit.

Unfortunately this thing's managed to invade every inch of Dean's head. Dean was out for who knows how long and whilst unguarded, the demon's gone on a fact finding mission.

Dean can feel it pulling up image after image until it settles on one and leaves it hanging there, in front of Dean's face. Sam, chained much like he is now, only he's awake and active and arching into Dean's touch. Trembling against Dean's tongue, begging for release and stuttering nonsense words of adoration.

'Ohhh, nice. I see. We all wondered, I mean how many brothers repeatedly throw themselves down the pit for each other and don't have a less than platonic bond. But really, Dean, I didn't know you two were so creative.'

Dean wants to throw up, but his stomach isn't connected to his thought process and he mentally gags and chokes on his own disgust and fear.

'You two morons are priceless, you know that...Years of killing off my kind on some crusade to rid the world of evil, and you and puppy dog eyes over there, have been doing the nasty every night in motel rooms across the country. Sick. I like it. Makes me proud. We really did a number on you lot, didn't we? You're as bad as the things you hunt.'

Dean's still forcing his way into his own arms and legs, trying to take himself back. It's impossible to sneak a knife and cut the ropes when the ropes are visible from all sides by some evil asshole squatting in your head.

Sam's stirring. Showing signs of life, the relief that his baby brother is alive is short lived when he realises that the minute he opens his eyes it's show on the road. If he can keep this thing talking, keep it occupied, he won't have to acknowledge the crippling fear floating around his disembodied mind and he might be able to save Sam from whatever this thing has planned.

'Stay down Sam!'

Sam's wakes slowly, mind travelling up through miles of thick fugue.

Right, tied down, check. Ankles and wrists dragging against rough metal. Tongue thick and heavy, furry. Sure sign of being drugged. Brown tabbed, double check.

So no, Dean isn't in an entertaining mood. He's not going to open his eyes and find his brother leering over him with a wicked glint in his eye and his cock in his hand. Damn.

Think, where were they, what time was it. Night, day. He can't remember. Whatever he can feel slowing his pulse, it's still working it's way out of his system.

Sam refuses to open his eyes, having been taught time and again, don't give away your position until absolutely necessary. Instead, he takes a mental inventory.

No other pain, apart from the sluggish flow of his thoughts, no limbs severed or gaping wounds anywhere. Good.

He's on a bed; he can feel the scratch of a top sheet against the exposed skin on his arms. Most likely their motel room, he hopes.

Something broke in. Managed to get the jump on him. Shit. That hasn't happened for years. Dean will never let him hear the end of it.

Shit, Dean!

Sam forces his mind back, was he with Dean, is Dean tied up and waiting on Sam to break free. He's got a vague memory of beer and porn, laughing at the moustaches and hair styles.

Dean was here then, but where is he now? Is he still here, slumped in some corner?

Still feigning sleep, Sam sucks in a breath, feels out the flavours on his tongue. Ozone, Dean's cheap cologne, the brand of cigarettes he thinks no one knows he smokes, sulphur.

Great!

So Dean is still here, or at least his body probably is.

He's still trying to figure out what the what is when his brother's voice sounds, closer than he'd like.

"Come on Sam. I know you're awake"

Sam knows better than to answer. It sounds like Dean, but with the sulphur hanging in the air, he's willing to bet it's not his brother in charge.

Something's riding it like they stole it.

"Sam, Sammy...Come on, Dean knows you're awake, so I know you're awake"

Okay definitely possessed. That's a new one. New for the last five years at any rate. How in the hell did Dean get himself possessed!

"I'm getting bored Sam. Don't make me find ways to occupy myself"

Finally, having no other choice and not wanting the thing using his brother's voice to come up with ways of making him open his eyes, he stares up through his lashes. Defiant. Smug.

No sense in showing his whole hand. He may be trussed like a turkey, doesn't mean he's gonna show fear.

Pinned inside his head, Dean bites down on a grin. Good old Sammy. He's learnt well over the years. Give them hell until you can't give them anything.

Sam notes the six inch hole in Dean's chest where the anti-possession charm should be and gets how Dean let some Demon crawl up inside him.

He's been spending way too much time with his brother, because Dean's voice sounds in his ears, "Dude, that's so naughty!" and he fights the school boy giggle laying against his tongue.

"What do you want?"

Dean's body twists into a coy pose, eyelashes fluttering, hands demurely clasped. Each downward drift of Dean's lashes gives way to a separate eye colour. Green, black, green, black, "Sammy, I'm hurt, I just wanna snuggle."

Dean's body freezes for a second, stuck in a cartoon pose, then the demon shakes itself loose, "Oh Dean, do it again, that tickles."

It sidles closer to the edge of the bed, "He's awake in here you know. Screaming foul mouthed threats about shoving his foot somewhere less than sunny."

The demon leans in conspiratorially, "He does realise if he wants to 'rip off my head and shit down my neck' he's gonna have to commit Hara-kiri, right?"

Sam steadies his breathing, focuses on the in and out. He can't run, he can't slide away from the thing wearing his brother and he's not giving it any more sport than is totally necessary, "Dean, it's okay. We'll be okay"

"No baby brother, you won't"

"What the fuck do you want!"

It takes a couple of steps, lowers itself onto the edge of the bed, runs his brother's fingers the length of Sam's side, scratching nails through cloth, "Well, you know how me and mine always have some grand plan, world domination and all that...."

Sam's skin is crawling, if it were possible it'd slither off his bones. He can remember the feel of Dean's nails, the sharp sting is imprinted in his memory. Gouging strips from his back and hips, nougies that Dean still insists on giving his 6'4, 31 year old brother, skin pinching contests on particularly boring stretches of highway. His body knows the difference though and is screaming at him, not Dean not Dean!

The revulsion is clear in Sam's eyes and he knows it, but he's fighting hard as he can not to give this bastard the satisfaction of knowing how badly this is affecting him.

Ignoring the hitch in his voice, Sam shoots for nonchalant, "So, master plan? Tie me up, and what...game of scrabble, black jack. You lot that bored down there?"

Dean's screaming so loud and so hard inside his head he thinks if he ever manages to get his own ears back, he'll be deaf as a post, permanent tinnitus. Every time the thing wearing him like a love glove gets near Sam, Dean wants to break his own arm off.

'Come on Dean, it's not like you don't like touching him. What's the problem?  
Get the fuck away from him...I swear I will hunt you down!  
Keep pushing me Hunter, I'll snap him in half and then slice your heart out.'

Dean stops. Stops pounding and throwing insults, stops trying to find a way to bust out, doesn't wanna give this thing any more of a reason...

The need to throw up is overwhelming, cloying.

"No Sam, hardly sporting that, is it! I prefer audience participation whenever I play"

Sam feels the bed dip as Dean's body straddles his hips. From his brother's back pocket it produces a wicked looking Athame, Latin inscriptions and Pagan sigil's etched into the blade and handle, "Actually, you wanna know something funny? I came up here for a quick jaunt. No big plans at all. Minor task list, pick up a soul for the boss. Imagine my surprise and joy when I came across you two yahoos bumbling round the town!"

In the deepest recesses of his mind, Sam already knows what's gonna go down here, and as Dean's body shifts around til the demon's comfy, he can't help it, knows it's gonna do no good, but has to try anyway, "Dean...please..."

The childlike panic in his brother's voice gives Dean renewed strength. He starts kicking and scraping, forcing himself into his own limbs, onto his own tongue, "Sammy, I..."

He's there, he's gone. Five seconds and Sam sees how badly Dean wants to slit his own throat, would rather die than be a part of what's about to happen to his baby brother.

'You mother fucker, you sick twisted mother fucker!  
Actually Dean, guess what, right now, I'm a brother fucker....  
No! Please, Don't...'

Dean know's he's just given this thing everything it wanted. Him, pleading and pathetic, begging for the life of his brother.

He throws himself back into fighting for what's his but it's getting him no where and he's so tired and sick to his unattached stomach. He can't even close his eyes. He's being forced to watch.

"So, Sammy, where were we, ah yes, my master plan. Basically, there isn't one. I saw you two, thought I'd try my luck. You've gotten sloppy, boys. I never would have managed to get the drop on you before. Anyway..."

He leans down, sits himself on Sam's lower legs, presses the thin line of the blade against Sam's belly, "I thought, seeing as I managed to snag such an awesome vacation spot, we'd have a little fun, play a little twister, take some down time."

Sam's considering biting his tongue off, he won't beg. He won't cry out. He won't give this thing the kudos. He prays Dean knows he knows it isn't him, and turns his head away.

The demon allows Dean enough sensation in his fingers to feel the weight of the blade, the give in Sam's skin as it slices through layers of plaid cloth and flesh as if they were butter.

Dean's trying to crane his neck away, anything to not have to see the resigned defeat on Sam's face. He may be hiding it, but Dean knows his brother's face better than his own, knows when Sam gives up. He's sobbing. No real tears, just mental projections of hot salty lines running down his face.

The demon stays quiet, good job 'cos Sam's fairly sure he'll break, the minute Dean's voice starts taunting him about what's happening.

It makes quick work of his top half, removing his shirts, laying him out bare. It slips the tip of the knife behind the button on Sam's jeans and pops it clean off.

It's when he feels Dean's calloused palm running from his sternum to below the waistband of his trousers that Sam's self-preservation kicks in, his body starts struggling, arching up and away, trying desperately to buck this thing off.

"That's better baby boy, never did like the whole lay back and enjoy it attitude. Give a little back why don't you."

'Don't call him that, don't....'

The demon hooks a finger into the zip and slides it down, slowly, enjoying the way the hunter inside his head is howling in desperation.

The demon shunts down, dragging Sam's trousers with it, Dean feels the stirring of his own flesh, but it's not him, it's the thing inside his body, enjoying the pain he's a part of and the look in Sam's eyes.

Dean had always suspected demons were just BDSM freaks with extra juice, but feeling the evidence of it in his blood makes him want to vomit until everything he's ever eaten comes up.

'OhGodohGodohGod...don't, I am telling you now, you can slice my heart right out of my fucking chest, I will claw my way back up here and I will find you. I'll hunt you down.'

The demon steps off the bed, climbs down from Sam's legs, and Dean, for a brief moment, fools himself into believing he's listening. Instead, the demon shucks his jeans, pulls Dean's zippo from a pocket and throws them across the room.

Before remounting his brother, Dean feels the demon slicing at Sam's trousers until they're lying in tatters.

Sam's exposed, open, and Dean catches a snippet of the demons thoughts as he stares appreciatively.

"I'm going to enjoy this. And Sammy..."

It waits for Sam to look him in the eye, flashes them back to green, "So is Dean. Whether he wants to or not"

Crawling between Sam's spread legs, it holds the blade above Sam's left thigh, reaches over, touches the tip of a finger to the metal holding him down, and the chain falls away.

One leg free, Sam starts kicking and swinging his foot. He knows it's useless but he's gotta try.

The demon snags Sam's ankle, squeezes hard enough to hear the bones grind, makes it very clear. Stop or get a shattered ankle.

Hooking Sam's foot over Dean's shoulder, the demon holds the blade an inch away from his inner thigh and flicks the lighter.

Heating the metal until it's glowing, he lays the tip just below Sam's balls and slices downwards, slowly. Slowly enough for Dean to be able to smell his brother's flesh opening and cauterising.

Sam cries out, "Dean!"

"That's it Sammy, scream for me"

It drags the knife down and down until it reaches the ball of Sam's foot, leaving an angry inch wide wound the length of his leg. There's no blood dripping, the blade was hot enough to stem the flow, but Sam can see his tendons and layers of skin laying open like a rare steak fillet, "That's gonna leave a scar!"

Satisfied with his handiwork, the demon discards the knife over the edge of the bed, eyes Sam's flaccid cock laying against his belly, and leans forward.

Close enough for Dean's breath to ghost over Sam's skin, the demon grins and runs his brother's tongue along the underside, "I'm gonna make this ten times worse for your self- righteous ass hole of a brother. You know how? I'm gonna make you cum. I'm gonna drag an orgasm out of you kicking and screaming whilst I fuck your tight little ass. And I'm gonna let him smell it, taste it, feel you clenching round his cock, all the while knowing it might be me rutting you in half but it's his body breaking his precious baby brother's"

Sam's stomach roils, feels acid and vomit hit the back of his tongue but stops short of actually throwing up, knowing he's in no position to give up that much of the shaky control he's got, "Dean...listen to me, please..."

'Sam, Sammy, I'm so sorry, please, god...stop, just stop.'

The demon's too curious to find out what the younger of the two most feared set of hunters has got to say just before he get's fucked six ways from Sunday, "Go on Sam, he can hear you. He's crying you know. Begging. It's delicious"

Ignoring his brother's voice, knowing it isn't him, Sam looks the thing right in the eyes, "Dean, I'm sorry. It's ok, and I'm sorry"

Sammy's apologising. Laid open and at the point of no return, his baby brother is saying sorry. It breaks Dean, obliterates his soul into sharp unfixable shards. Even faced with the inevitability of being violated by some skank wearing his brother's meat, Sam's still trying to tell Dean he knows it's not him, and he's sorry Dean has to go through this as much as he does.

The demon laughs. Uses his brother's face to smirk at him, and with no warning digs his fingers inside Sam's open leg, dragging gore and blood onto them. He pumps Dean's cock a couple times, satisfied that he's just as much in charge of that muscle as he is everything else.

It doesn't waste any time, just slams Dean's cock home, ripping Sam, sending pain shooting along every nerve ending.

The demon twists Dean's body in on itself, curls into a tight enough ball to be able to wrap his lips round Sam's cock, and despite the excruciating agony, despite wanting in that moment to die, over and over again, Sam's cock twitches.

His subconscious is feeling Dean's mouth, Dean's tongue and teeth and Sam is shamed by the hard on he knows Dean will be able to feel inside his mouth, "De...god, I'm sorry..."

Dean's throwing himself around so hard inside his head that he thinks his brain'll never be the same again.

It was right. Dean can feel the weight of Sam's cock on his tongue, slamming into the back of his throat and it's a vileness Dean never thought he'd witness, despite their day time job. It's worse than all the things they did to him in hell, worse than knowing Sam was burning in the pit.

He isn't blaming Sam, how can he? It's his cock pounding into him, and he wants to die. Would happily throw himself off a high rise.

'Sam, please, god...I'm so sorry, it'll be over in a minute, it'll be over soon.'

He knows Sam can't hear him, he's talking more to himself than he is his brother. He's so close to finding a way of destroying himself inside his own head. Just so he doesn't have to feel this, have this singed into his memory.

Sam's slick with his own blood now, easing the demon's path, making it a little more bearable. Thanking god for small mercies. Sam wills his body to relax, knowing he'll be in worse shape if it doesn't.

As he claws for anything in his head that is as far away from this violent act of dominance as possible, he has a eureka moment, figures out how to get Dean back in his own body, "De...Dean..."

The demon has straightened out, is slamming his thighs against Sam's ass and jerking him off at the same time, is determined to drag as much horror out of this as possible.

"Dean..please, listen...re..remember, that weekend in Somerville, no hunts....no, oh god, no fucked up demons on our heels...remember..."

Dean hears Sam, figures out what he's trying to do. Remembers the aftermath of Sam's fall into the pit and what his brother had told him about taking back control from Lucifer.

Too late the demon latches onto Dean's thoughts, has no way of shutting them down.

As he pumps away at Sam, he sees the images flashing across the backs of Dean's eyes.

"We, Jesus fucking Christ, we had the whole motel to ourselves, wet weekend....shit...no one else around. We...we...please Dean, please..."

Dean sees Sam, in that motel room, languid and relaxed and tucked between his legs, head resting on his chest, fingers playing with the ring on Dean's right hand. The sense of warmth, of belonging, of home.

There, a spark, a moment of complete control. Dean clamps down on it, holds on for dear life, halts his body, freezes inside Sam, "Sam, Sammy, keep going, I can feel...."

He loses it for a second, the demon's back in charge.

"Dean, no, come on, remember, think. We watched..fuck..watched old movies, cheesy westerns. Ate shitty road food in bed...Please, you have to..."

Dean sees everything Sam's describing, ignores the sensation of his hips thrusting and concentrates on the feel of Sam's lips at his throat, hand braced against the headboard, arching into him, begging for more contact.

"Sammy!"

Snap, he's back, the vile thing inside him can't keep it's grip any longer and black smoke billows from Dean's mouth.

Blessedly free of any outside influence, and in complete control of his body. Dean pulls away from Sam, pulls out, watches in horror as blood and cum slide onto the sheets, "Oh god, Sam...I, shit...I'm so..."

"Get these things off me, now!"

Dean crosses the room on shaky legs, finds the key inside his pocket and unlocks the manacles.

As soon as his brother is free, he makes to retreat, and Sam grabs him, ignoring the bruises on his wrists, the searing heat between his legs, "No, don't...we can't let it. Look, shit..we can't let that be the way this ends. They won't win. Won't ruin us"

Dean realises, with disgust, what Sam is saying, and he yanks his arm free, "I can't, Sam I can't...it nearly killed you...look at what..."

Sam wraps his legs round Dean, quicker than he thought he'd be able to move with his ass feeling like it got fucked by a tanker truck, "No! Stop! They WILL NOT take this from us.....please"

Dean's pretty powerless against that tone of voice most the time, but with Sam looking at him like he's the last drink of water in a thousand miles of desert, like he's the life line on a sinking ship, he caves.

Leaning into Sam, mindful of the pain he must be in, he shifts up Sam's body, lines their cocks up, grips them both in his hand and rotates his hips.

Sam grunts against the pressure between his legs, steadily ignores the slip of blood for the sensation of Dean's finger's squeezing their cocks together.

Keeping his eyes open and on Dean, staring straight into his soul, Sam cups Dean's cheek, pulls him down for a heart breaking kiss, and let's himself remember the weekend alone in that motel room, let's the memories swirl around inside, eradicating the feeling of being used, remembering that his brother, the man who lives and dies for him, is the one above him now.

Dean feels revulsion at the fact he is so close to orgasm. He vaguely recalls some ass about face conversation on fight or flight instincts, fuck or die. The visceral need to feel the breath of bliss after the spectre of death, and he let's himself go. Allows himself the small moment of healing, for him and his brother.

Pumping his hips, grinding against Sam, Dean cums, empties himself against his stomach with his brother's name on his lips, "Sammy"

Sam hears his name, feels Dean stiffen and falls right over the edge with him. Letting the fireworks behind his eyes wash away all traces of the Demon's touch, "God, Dean!"

They lay, in each other's arms, Dean breathing blessedly free air, and Sam finding comfort in his brother's weight, for a long time. Neither one knowing where to go from here, but both safe in the knowledge that no demon is going to take this away from them.

No demon will take away the one thing in their fucked up lives that makes existence liveable.


End file.
